


Claws

by ClothesBeam



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Inappropriate use of swords, M/M, Masturbation, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: Locked away in isolation, Kojuro begins to fantasise about his lord, whose fate he is still unsure of. When he uses the broken blade to assist him, he begins to wonder whether Masamune is doing the same thing with blade he left behind. Or has the worst really come to pass, and now his deceased lord's spirit is visiting him?





	

They had left him alone and without food for more than 24 hours again. Kojuro sighed quietly and opened his eyes. He had been sitting in seiza for so long his feet were numb, but inevitably his gaze returned to the sword lying on the ground before him. One of Masamune’s claws still half wrapped in lavender material reflected what remained of the light from the dim lantern.

Takenaka didn’t seem to understand. Even if Masamune had been killed in his last battle, Kojuro would use the broken blade to take his own life before aiding Toyotomi in his rampant destruction. Kojuro smiled, but there was no humour in it. An extreme measure perhaps, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had tried to go so far.

Kojuro picked up the sword and cringed as he fingered the blade that had been snapped clean in half. How had something as well made as this been shattered in the first place?

Kojuro stood and shook out his legs, automatically testing the weight of the weapon he still held onto. He took a few experimental swings and found the balance was, somehow, still fairly good. However, his strikes wavered slightly. The poor form reminded him of the days Masamune had struggled to wield one claw, let alone six.

Of course, weapons were not the only thing Kojuro would come to teach him to use. His face warmed and he gripped the handle harder, trying to get a hold of himself. This was not the time nor place to indulge in those kinds of memories.

But he had been stuck here for weeks…

The sword handle was shaped to fit Masamune’s hand perfectly. Kojuro studied the grooves closely as the memory of his lord’s hand around his cock kept rising to the fore of his mind.

Kojuro sat down again and faced away from the door. He hadn’t heard anyone moving around outside for more than a day. He felt it unlikely that he would be walked in on before he noticed someone was approaching the room.

Kojuro untied his hakama and let his hand wander under his chest plate in search of the small jar of oil he kept in his armour at all times. This had become a habit for both he and Masamune, since most of their intimacy occurred in the mentally strenuous waits between battles during a campaign.

For the moment he let his mind race forward to when he would be reunited with his lord. As soon as they found an excuse to be alone for any length of time, they would retreat to Masamune’s sleeping quarters. Kojuro would be forced down onto the futon which was perpetually left in a mess on the floor.

Kojuro froze when he heard something beyond the haze of lust. He mentally followed the footsteps down the hall until they had faded into the distance again. He grimaced and hoped they would not be back anytime soon. Right now, stopping was the last thing he wanted.

He lay on his back, pretending it was Masamune’s hand on him. He flicked the cap off the oil and imagined Masamune’s face in his, a playful reprimand for staying away for so long on his tongue, but thankfulness and intense relief in his eye. Masamune would spread his legs apart and expose him while he still had a semi. He would demand to watch Kojuro prepare himself.

Kojuro hissed when he couldn’t get the angle he desired with his fingers alone. He was desperate right now and therefore clumsy. Masamune would probably be enthralled to see him in such a state.

The words “Masamune-sama” were among his soundless gaping.

He turned his head to the side and hunched his shoulders as he finally got his stroking and penetration into some semblance of order. He caught sight of Masamune’s broken claw and found the fantasy slipping again.

He couldn’t stand it. The pathetic position he was in right now was too much for his pride to bear. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Gods forbid he be found like this…

A shaking hand reached for the handle of the sword.

~/~

Masamune stood before the door to his missing retainer’s quarters. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the time his right eye had tried to kill himself in front of him. But one thing from that day couldn’t be shaken from his thoughts. The revelation of Kojuro’s well-defined torso remained vivid

He opened the door and moved to the middle of the bare room. The only thing of note was Kojuro’s main arm: the sword with his oath inscribed upon it.

Masamune plopped down in front of the stand. When his men had recovered it and brought it to him, he had come to Kojuro’s room with the intent of returning it to the man almost straight away. Being reminded of his absence in such a harsh way was like having his eye eaten away by disease again. It was impossible to comprehend his continued absence.

Masamune glanced behind him, making sure all the screens were completely closed. Good, no one would disturb him. Though, given his flat mood, they would probably be too scared to approach Kojuro’s room once they knew he was in it. No one wanted to see their boss crying like a baby.

Masamune took the sword off its stand and read the oath, tracing the kanji as he went. The blade was perfect in every way; weight, balance, sharpness… much like its owner.

He wasn’t sure what pushed him to the action, but once his fingers were done, his tongue traced the meticulously carved characters. His tongue could feel the beginnings of wear on the blade, and the metallic taste almost made him retract it entirely. But the heat in his fundoshi convinced him otherwise.

He was suddenly glad the habit of carrying lube was so ingrained in him that he had oil jammed in the front of his training hakama. He let the hakama fall and yanked up his undershirt. Masamune hissed as his genitals were exposed to the cool air. Winter came early in Oshu, and it came in sheets of ice.

He squirmed as his cold, slick fingers were hurriedly pressed into him. He would get Kojuro back. As soon as he did, the man would glue himself to his back and not leave his side for days.

Masamune leaned forward and imagined the heat and weight of his retainer leaning over him. He swore he felt a warm whisper against his ear of “Masamune-sama.”

He thrust his fingers, but they were no substitute for the heat of Kojuro’s cock. The perfectly shaped, perfectly sized… He grunted in frustration as a chilly breeze snuck under the crack of the door and brushed his bare ass, emphasising his fantasy was just that.

Masamune glanced around the bare room for something he could use to improve the situation. The third time his eye was drawn to the sword, he shrugged and picked it up. This could get… interesting.

“Kojuro,” he murmured, running his thumb along the handle’s detailing. What on earth was his right eye doing without his favourite blade?

~/~

Kojuro’s breath hitched as the uncomfortable shape of the sword handle entered him. “Kojuro,” an all too familiar voice murmured with a badly hidden hint of desperation.

He inhaled sharply through his nose before snapping his eyes open. He couldn’t see or hear anyone moving around. Then, it was just his imagination. He was still stuck here, but his activities at least remained mercifully undiscovered.

Hitting his prostate regularly while avoiding slicing up the tatami was forcing him to go slower and gentler than he needed. Kojuro turned onto his side and scrabbled at the tatami with his empty right hand before gaining a comfortable balance. He reached down, elbow bent under him awkwardly, and continued stroking himself as the thrusts continued.

His own panting was making it difficult to hear what was going on outside his cell. But his ability to care whether anyone saw or heard him was disappearing as he approached orgasm.

“Masamune,” he whispered, in case the voice he had heard had been his lord’s restless spirit, and not just a hallucination brought on by a lack of food and rest.

Kojuro bit into the thick material of his jacket when he came, hoping to muffle any inadvertent noises he might make. At first he thought he’d been too loud, but then he recognised the moan he did hear as something that would come from Masamune’s mouth.

Kojuro sat up before he was ready, in a hurry to do his best to clean up before someone could see him in such a state. As he wiped the handle of his lord’s sword, his mind wandered to what had become of his own blade. Perhaps Masamune was…

No. He had to focus. All he had to do was wait for the right opportunity.

Kojuro carefully wrapped the broken blade back in the material it had arrived in and sat back in seiza, a little more uncomfortable than before. Waiting was something he could do, at least for a little longer.

_Masamune-sama…_


End file.
